Illya's Revenge (Or How the Heck it All Started, Anyway)
by katbybee
Summary: Prequel to "The Espresso and Duct Tape Affair." This is done in drabble and half-drabble style and tells the story of just what caused our intrepid Russian to go off the deep end...was intended to be an LJMFUSec7 Challenge Poll Story, but I missed the deadline due to illness, so I offer it here, instead. mrua7, This pun's for you! Don't own, just playin' in the sandbox! R/R


mrua7, this pun's for you… ;-)

 **Illya's Revenge (or How the Heck it all Started…)**

I can assure you I am a perfectly normal, (usually) healthy specimen of _homo sapiens_ of the male variety. I can trace my (thus far) one and only unforced, _undrugged_ flight into pure lunacy to one specific mission. And it was all due to my partner and his blasted puns…

Napoleon and I waited at the conference table for our newest assignment. I dreaded more travel, as we were both jetlagged after returning from London yesterday. I'm ready to strangle my partner. When Napoleon is tired, he gets silly. I get ill-tempered, although no one seems to notice the difference. Mr. Waverly looked up, and in his succinct way, gave us our assignment. "Rome. There is a new THRUSH cell operating. Take them out. All the details are in the files, gentlemen. You can study them on the plane. Economy class, of course. Leaves in two hours. Better get moving."

We exited The Old Man's office to grab our still-packed bags. Laundry would be first on the list. Not an auspicious beginning to any mission. I groan as Napoleon began singing softly off-key: "Rome, Rome on the range, where the Thrushies and the bad guys all plaaa—aay, where seldom is heard… an intelligent word…and their eyes do not clear up all daaa—aay…." He ended his little ditty on a screechy falsetto, for which I threw him my best "Look." He simply snorted with laughter and returned a look of his own…the one I have come to dread.

The flight was just as ridiculous as I was afraid it was going to be. After we had studied the files and planned our mission, which occupied all of about three hours of the flight, I was ready for a long nap. My partner was ready for a long flirt. Which would have been fine, except that unfortunately, he met a particularly _bubbly_ stewardess named _Joy_. Her hobby was sharing jokes and puns from all over the world. I have never hit a woman outside the line of duty, but on that flight, I must confess, I came very close!

Upon arrival, we quickly determined that the Thrushies we were dealing with were not the brightest bulbs in the pack, and that infiltrating their group would be no problem. Napoleon went in undercover as a free-lance mercenary for hire. They bought his skills immediately, doing no background check at all. I was relieved at the ease of Napoleon's acceptance into the group. He quickly gained their confidence, and even helped them plan the mission we were tasked with destroying. All would have been well, had the group _not_ decided on a drunken pre-mission celebration…where a barmaid recognized and greeted Napoleon…

The Thrushies were dumb, but they were _not_ slow. They captured Napoleon before he even had time to react, probably because he had gotten a bit cocky over the fact that I had been baiting him about how he couldn't possibly mess up amongst these idiots…so he did. _Sorry, chum!_ Napoleon was locked in a heavily guarded building with a small barred window at the back. Hungover angry birds are _not_ a pretty sight. My hungover, grouchy partner was not particularly lovely, either. His bleary eyes widened as I hung upside down by a rope in the window and grinned.

I had just handed over my set of lock picks to Napoleon when stars burst in my skull as pain burst there like fireworks. I fall, and as I fade out, my thoughts wander; _Napoleon's suit had looked in relatively good repair_ … _This is not good—not at all…_ *blessed blackness*.

I reached up to touch the bandage around my head, and Napoleon stops me. "Crease. And you've probably got a concussion again." "Wonderful. But we still have a mission to complete. Did you get our stash of supplies?" He nods, frowning at me. "You up for this, _Tovarisch_?" "Oh, yes, Partner Mine. _This one_ will be my masterpiece." Napoleon simply nods, and we set to work. I am seething. _They had made this personal_. Though he hid them, I had seen the bruises and cigarette burns on Napoleon's torso. _And the beauty I created was truly awesome in its destruction._

The explosion could be seen for miles around. Nothing was left but a very large crater in the ground. All the buildings had been reduced, as intended, to sawdust. There was no real reason to call in a clean-up crew, as there was really nothing left to identify, much less clean up. However, procedure must be followed. Napoleon raised an eyebrow at me. "Mr. Waverly is not going to be happy." I shrugged. "The satrap is gone. The Thrushies are gone. Who is to be unhappy?" I knew exactly what he meant, and as predicted, my boss was distinctly _unhappy._

All the way back from Rome, I got to listen to Joy and Napoleon exchanging puns and jokes. Oh, Joy…pardon the pun…aaack! I am doomed! My head hurts, my boss is angry. Just because I used a little more C-4 in my creation is no reason to get so testy.

Finally I make it back into my beloved lab after our debriefing and my dressing down by Mr. Waverly. I am to report to Medical due to the mild concussion, which I will do in a little while. First, I wish to have a nice cup of Turkish espresso as I take time to decompress from the mission. Idly, I began playing with the items on my desk as I often do when I'm in deep contemplation. One of them is a role of silver duct tape…something I have been working with lately. I wonder…I just wonder…I need more espresso…

~The End of the Beginning~

A/N: Cookies to anyone who caught the totally intentional pun reference in this story…pathetic, I admit, but hey… ;-)


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